The Cold Heart
by Cinnamon Quartz
Summary: 'Sometimes life could be strange when married to a psychic. But also so absolutely wonderful.' A one-shot about soulmates and the hunt for a killer.


**A/N:** Hello! This is a new one-shot that takes place in my Riven Heart universe, but if you haven't read it, no worries! This story can stand on its own! All you need to know is Pansy and Neville are head over heels for each other! This fic is rated for swearing and some intimate scenes, but nothing explicit.

An extra big think you to **LadyCumberBunny** for being my sounding board and being amazing in general.

* * *

 **A Cold Heart**

By Lady Ylla

Sometimes life could be strange when married to a psychic.

Like the time Neville Longbottom found himself jumping out of bed in the middle of the night because his wife, his lovely, psychic, amazing, violet-eyed wife, Pansy Parkinson, screamed ' _FIRE!'_ after jerking awake in a fit.

He'd been half way through their house, wearing nothing but his birthday suit, water gushing from his wand as he soaked every inch of everything he could find before Pansy stopped him with a apologetic laugh. Well, it had just been a vision, and the fire hadn't _happened_ yet. That's all...

Or one time when, after Pansy agreed to work as a consultant for the Auror Department using her ability to see the future (or the past), she came home with a bruise on her eye that had him swearing to murder anyone who dared looked at her wrong in the last _decade_. Nevermind they hadn't been married that long, he was determined. But, Pansy pointed out, it happened during a vision and such a physical effect barely ever happened during her visions. It had taken Neville a long time to accept that his wife had been punched psychically and there was no one to blame for that.

Because the person who threw that punch hadn't been aiming at his wife, but another person. And it hadn't even happened yet.

Or another time when, after a particularly _energetic_ bout of sex, she'd been just drifting off to sleep, tucked safely in his arms, both of them worn out and feeling satisfied and in love, when he felt a vision take her under. She gasped, and being the dutiful husband he was, Neville _knew_ every nuance of her gasps and moans and groans. He knew exactly how to illicit said gasps and moans and groans from her and he _knew_ that that particular gasp should not have been coming out of her mouth for any man except him. She'd jerked up, dark hair sliding down her shoulder, heart thumping wildly, and given him _such_ a sexy look he felt like he'd been hit with the backend of a broomstick.

"I've just seen the sex we'll be having tomorrow night and I believe we need to practice first." And because the events centered around the beginning of their relationship had brought on not only his wife's precious and amazing gift of seeing the future but also the rare gift of a soulmate bond, he felt more than saw exactly the kind of sexual position she'd glimpsed in her vision.

Soulmate bonds usually came with years, if not decades, of companionship. The only time Neville heard of someone with a soulmate bond, the both of them had been in their 70's, their respective marriages having lasted a lifetime before a bond formed. His came during an emotional storm that would have crushed them both if they hadn't accepted the bond. A rare, but true, gift of the magical community, soulmate bonds weren't always empathetic. But theirs was. What Pansy felt, so did Neville. And vice versa. Distance dampened it but not by much.

Physical touch heightened it.

Yes, the sex was _amazing._

So sitting on a workbench wearing dirty jeans and a sweaty tee-shirt, Neville slid his hands back into his work gloves and continued repotting a rather vicious group of Grappling Gypsy Claws, a magical plant used in a wide variety of potions. On top of being psychic, his wife also happened to be an experienced Potion Master and he was damn proud of her for it. She'd worked day and night to get the certification and now reaped the benefits of selling her potions for the premium amount.

He was more than willing to man the greenhouses to provide the ingredients. He'd work a few more hours before cleaning up and heading over to the Ministry of Magic to join his wife and fellow friends for lunch. The work suited him and gave him a great deal of satisfaction, getting to see his wife afterwards was the crystallized cherry on top of his sundae.

Bending over, he wiped his gloves on his jeans and went to work on the next group of plants when he felt it. A shove of need and terror and rage and fear so great he fell to his knees, a fisted glove rubbing his heart as if it would ease the ache. It didn't and a second later the emotions he felt coming through his bond pushed him over and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

 **oOo**

Pansy Parkinson waited in Harry Potter's office and sighed with impatience, pulling the cuffs of her black leather synth gloves down further under the sleeves of her purple robes. She had quite a few things to get done before dinner that night, Neville and her having fallen into the habit of hosting their group of friends at least once a week. The dinner parties only seemed to be getting bigger and bigger as their friends added to their families. All fine with her, it brought her insurmountable joy to watch new loved ones come into their lives.

She also had some brewing to catch up on, remembering the way Neville teased her for rushing him to harvest the supplies needed for the potion order that needed filling. But Harry asked her to come in and, as much as she'd like to remain in her comfortable brewing room at home with the sweet sounds of simmering potions and the scents of fresh ingredients her constant companions, this was her other job and it was just as important.

Maybe even more so.

Of course, Harry Potter ran on what everyone referred to as 'Harry-Time', usually 15 minutes to half an hour late to any meeting that didn't involve the Minister of Magic. Then, Harry made an effort to only be 10 minutes late or so. In turn, Pansy adjusted the time of their meet to accommodate Harry's lateness but still, he managed to make her wait longer than expected.

He finally rushed in, wearing his official Auror Robes and a golden badge pinned to his hip. "Sorry - sorry." He handed her a juice box, a bar of chocolate, and a protein filled granola bar before he set a long black box on his messy deck. The kind of box she associated with expensive jewelry, she expected the inside to be velvet lined and holding something connected to one of Harry's cases.

"Busy morning?" she ventured, watching him shrug out of his robes and toss them onto the coat hanger by the door.

"Is it that obvious? Two minutes. Eat the chocolate." Once upon a time her friend used to speak in complete sentences. That was before two kids and an active career as an Auror. Harry and her had an odd friendship, she mused as she sipped the sweet juice and started on the chocolate watching him fill out paperwork with frantic quill scratching and shoving files into his cabinet. He shot a few notes off and blew out a frustrated breath as little memos folded into birds fluttered in and out of his office.

He'd been Neville's friend first, obviously. That dated all the way back to their years in school, at Hogwart's. When she started seeing Neville, and everything turned so crazy, Harry turned into something of a protector. Not that she needed protection from anything, but that's just the kind of person Harry happened to be. Pansy guessed it had to do with her memories that Harry witnessed in the Pensieve, memories Neville had also seen. Bad memories she'd rather forget.

They both had a strange inclination to shield her on all sides from any kind of harm. But, as she liked to remind them both, she was a witch grown. She'd been through the fires of hell and came out honed and whole and she wouldn't let any past horrors keep her from living her life. Harry had a better time of understanding that than Neville, but she wasn't bonded to or madly in love with the Head Auror.

That didn't stop him from trying to baby her though, even as he accepted she could play a pivotal role in helping his cases. Hence the juice and granola bar. Using her psychic muscles used an incredible amount of energy, and the protein and sugar was necessary to keep her from fading completely away.

Chocolate and juice gone, Harry finally finished whatever report he was obviously rushing through and threw it into a different cabinet, which promptly swallowed the papers and burped. Loudly. "Sorry -"

"Don't worry about it. What do we have?" She had a lot to do that day and knew Harry could spend a lot of time just to get a measly apology out. Instead she gestured to the long jewelry box on his desk and scooted forward in her chair.

"I'll warn you now, it's a murder weapon." Harry cautioned, because in their experience working together, the murder weapons tended to bring out the most emotional and dramatic reactions from her. The worst had been when an assailant punched his victim before cursing the witch's lungs to shrivel up. The black eye appeared on her person and made Neville mad for _two weeks straight_ until it finally faded.

But she could handle it. She flipped the box open and revealed not sparkling jewelry as she expected, but a thin, long dagger with a hilt wrapped in brown leather. The blade itself wasn't but half an inch in width, the entire weapon about half the length of her Willow wand…

And covered in dried blood.

"Where did you find it?" She needed as many clues before she used her psychic senses so she could understand what she was seeing instead of trying to go back and remember clues that might otherwise be forgotten.

"Crime scene, a wizard out in Norwich was found murdered in his home. Name is Randall Jameson." He paused and looked down at the dagger. "He was stabbed repeatedly with that. Think you can handle it?"

Pansy narrowed her glare at him and took off her gloves, setting them neatly on his desk by the black box. "Of course, what else can you tell me?"

"According to the friend that found him dead, Randall used to work for Gringotts for International Accounts. But he retired several years ago and doesn't have any kids, or immediate family. Just an average wizard." Harry shrugged, "That's all I have so far."

"Very well."

She licked her lips and prepared her mind, picking up the blade by the hilt with her bare hand, she then opened her third-eye as she liked to call it and allowed the vision to take her over. Her physical eyes closed shut, but her psychic pathway opened fully.

She stood by a stout wizard with a tuft of brown hair by each of his ears, the cap of his head bald and shiny. He sighed happily as he sipped from his tea cup, a pair of binoculars hanging around his neck as he looked out the window, a book open on the table about bird watching.

Pansy let the vision in a little more, time speeding ahead until the sun set and the wizard named Randall walked about obviously getting ready for bed. Her eyes zeroed in on the door knob as it turned, a masked and gloved figure walking through the dark on silent feet.

Randall didn't see, his back turned toward the unknown figure, who lifted the dagger up and began the assault.

Instantly, Pansy could feel the knife, it's cruel blade sharp and cold, piercing through her back as if she were the one being stabbed instead of Randall. She cried out ( _Aaahhh!)_ even though her person was fine, no blood, no stab wounds anywhere, and then the figure turned and looked _right at her._

Darkness surrounded her like great wings, the Killer stood in front of her and the knife slid into her chest, a very real knife very much in her chest, as his mask melted away. Only smooth white skin appeared where a face should have been, her fingers wrapping around his hand that held the knife in her heart.

' _Who are you?'_ was the last thing she heard before she used every last bit of her energy to shut the psychic connection down, blinking open her eyes to find herself laying on the ground, her hands wrapped around the dagger that rested in her chest, blood falling over her skin to the ground.

Harry stood over her shouting words she couldn't hear, his wand waving through the air frantically. Dying was strange, but the last thought she had was that her soulmate bond to Neville seemed to be open even further and that was great, because she wanted Neville to know it wasn't _his_ fault she'd gone and gotten herself stabbed in the heart by some psychic killer. She sent that thought as hard as she could.

The bond fluttered wildly, with love, with hopes and dreams, with a protective wave that felt like the deep blue of Neville's eyes and smelled of the roses in their garden. She felt energy pouring back into her. Weird. Then it all went black. And the Killer stood above her haloed by the darkness.

 **oOo**

Ron Weasley found Neville passed out in his greenhouse and immediately revived the man with his wand. He sat up so quickly his vision blurred. "What the hell -"

"Look at me!" Ron yelled in his face. "Look at me man! She's okay, she's _fine._ "

"Pansy!"

"She's at St. Mungo's, and she needs you but she's okay. C'mon." And Ron hefted Neville to his feet, just keeping him from swaying when his knees almost went out.

"What happened?" Neville found himself growling, an uncontrollable rage keeping his muscles tight and his heart pounding wildly. All he knew, all he could think of, was that something had gone _terribly_ wrong.

"She had a bad vision, and stabbed herself. But Harry stopped her before she could really hurt herself and she's alive." Ron insisted.

"What aren't you telling me?" Somehow they made in through his gardens and into the house, the house he shared with Pansy. Ron propped him against the hearth wall and grabbed the floo powder jar.

"It's like she can't get out of her vision." Ron said, "But that's all I know. _St. Mungo's!"_

Neville didn't remember the Floo travel, or tucking in his elbows, or how he got up three flights of stairs. The moment he walked into Pansy's hospital room he felt panic drive him to her side. Her skin looked pale and sweaty, the hospital gown doing nothing to hide the large square bandage over her heart. Her eyes were moving quickly underneath her lids, her head snapping back and forth.

"No, no… no, no..."

"Baby wake up." He demanded, his fingers digging through her dark hair, cupping her skull to stop the rapid movement of her head. He tried to open their bond, found it shut down on her end. Her doing? Or something else? "Damn it."

"Neville, I'm glad you're here." He looked up and saw Susan Bones, Head Healer and one of his and Pansy's best friends. "I don't know what to do, only that if we don't stop it soon, whatever is happening will _kill her_."

No! The thought of losing her was unacceptable. He pushed the covers off Pansy's tiny form and pulled her into a fierce hug, holding her to him with everything he had. Touch tended to triggered her visions, but they'd found that it could also pull her back to the present if the touch was intense enough. He'd often kissed her to pull her out of visions she didn't want to be in. So that's what he did now.

"Touch her!" He told everyone in the room and pressed his lips to hers, keeping his eyes open to watch for any sign of change. Harry, Ron, Susan, and even a nurses Aide all put their hands Pansy's bare skin, touching her arms, shoulders, and neck.

His wonderful Pansy was strong enough to bare the hardships of her gift, he knew that better than anyone. While he would have prefered she didn't have to deal with it at all, he admired her strength regardless. The gift had been passed on from mother to daughter, in brutal fashion. Pansy's mother had committed suicide and then gift had gone from her to Pansy with the blood drawn. But Denise Parkinson left behind more than just her gift.

She left a message that Pansy could bare such a terrible gift because of the soulmate bond Pansy and Neville shared.

So he, having always been quite good at sending emotion through their bond, shoved all the love and admiration and all the joy and devotion he had for her down through their soulmate bond and felt her shutter of relief when the bond opened up again.

It felt weaker than it ever had, almost raw. But her pretty violet eyes popped open and she sagged into his arms. "Nev?"

"I'm here baby. I'm here." Oh god, he thought his heart was going to rip right out of him.

"He's hunting me now," she whispered, burying her head into his chest. "He's hunting me!"

 **oOo**

"We're not having this discussion again." Neville told her with finality. She sat in their kitchen nook, a cup of coffee in hands, legs pulled up. Susan finally let them go home after extensive tests revealed there was nothing wrong with Pansy, though she needed rest from overusing her psychic muscles so much.

"Since we've been married, your neanderthal tendencies have gotten less cute." She sipped from her coffee and ignored him when he placed yet another plate of food in front of her. Fruit and carrots and what had to be the biggest tuna fish sandwich ever created. "Love, I can't possibly eat anymore."

He grabbed her chin with his fingers, angry and scared, and placed a harsh kiss against her lips. "You will eat and refuel your energy. Then we're going to bed."

She slammed her coffee down. "Don't try to cow me into doing what you want!" She knew this was not about the food, but about the fact that she wouldn't stop until they caught the Killer. The maliciousness she felt… the horror of being connected to someone who would murder another. She wondered how she still breathed. According to Harry, she'd gone for the dagger and he only just stopped her from ending her own life.

She rubbed over the bandage on her chest. Instead she had a small nick, which managed to bleed far more than either one of them thought possible. It would heal up in no time though. The real problem was that this Killer managed to connect to her in a way a regular person shouldn't have been able to. Not only that, but control her actions. Force her to hurt herself. He, and it definitely felt like a male to her, managed to feed into her emotions much like Neville could.

But it hadn't come through the soulmate bond, but her psychic pathway instead. And instead of the constant flow of love she felt from her husband, the Killer made her feel violated and hated. He _enjoyed_ her pain and fear. He instinctively knew how to draw her out and trap her. She told Harry and Neville that. The knife hadn't been trap, but a moment of opportunity.

"You. Are. Off. This. Case." Neville told her through clenched teeth. "End of story. Now eat."

But she wouldn't give in. "Short of hurting me, there's nothing you can do to stop me. Don't ask me to step aside and let this _killer_ hurt other people."

"He fucking hurt _you!"_

"And he won't stop until he finishes me off!" She shouted, grabbing his hair and jerking his head forward. They were heading for a huge fight, she could tell. No use in delaying it any longer.

He pushed her hands away, headed for his greenhouses. The backdoor slammed and it felt as if the entire kitchen shook from the impact. Pansy sat, stunned, in the kitchen nook and thought she hadn't seen that coming at all. Soulmates didn't mean their relationship was perfect. It was damn close, but no. Not perfect. They had their fights just like anyone else.

They were explosive and involved a lot of yelling usually, and Pansy preferred it that way. She had no idea what to do with the silent treatment or a cold shoulder. And Neville had never walked away from her.

Blowing out a slow breath, she realized that his actions spoke of just how scared he felt. "But why?" He knew best that their bond rooted her to him. Disregarding her vision today, usually even the worst of her visions were held at bay by the sheer force of love they had for each other.

She loved that man so much it made her teeth hurt. Loved how different colored rose petals showed up all over their house when she least expected them to. Loved his goofy smile and the silly jokes they shared. Love his dedication to his friends and the Auror Department. Loved how his kisses brought her to her knees on a daily basis. All this he knew, because of their bond.

"Oh…" and then she realized. Their bond, already a rare gift, came with the rare ability of empathy. Anything she felt…. Neville felt too…

Whatever the Killer made her feel, Neville felt it right along with her.

Wiping the tear that fell down her cheek, she got up and grabbed the sandwich plate before following him out the backdoor and down the path that led to his greenhouse. He had more greenhouses at the Longbottom property Augusta lived on, but this one was their greenhouse.

She followed his anger all the way to the very back and despite the Grappling Gypsy Claws that snapped at her and his dirty gloves, she sank into his arms and ignore his huff. "You have to eat too." She held the plate up as a peace offering.

"Don't." But his arms wrapped protectively around her, where they belonged. She wasn't being sent away. She could work with that.

She picked up a grape and popped it into her mouth. "See," she swallowed. "I'm eating." She ate a few more bites before she offered a red grape by putting against his lips. "Open…"

Finally, he accepted and ate the grape with a quick swallow. "Susan said you could have died."

Ahh. Biting down on her own lip, she thought that may very well have been true. The Killer, whatever he was, he'd definitely trapped her. How, she had no idea, but it was possible he would have been able to suffocate her psychically. Death had been a real possibility.

She felt his fear and anger, but underneath all that was the demanding pulse of need. He needed her just as much as she needed him, needed to love her and protect her. Needed her to be whole and she needed from him.

"Neville, baby." She set the sandwich plate down and put her fingers against his cheeks, cheeks rough after a day's growth of stubble. "He's going to kill again. I felt his intent, he killed Randall for no reason other than he _needed_ to kill. It might not be a family-less wizard next time. It might be a mother. Or a child… or a wife…"

He sucked in a breath and his eyes turned glassy.

"I could not live with myself if I didn't at least try to stop him and you know that."

"Not tonight," he said in a hoarse voice, and he buried his head in her neck.

"No, I need you tonight." She wrapped her arms around his neck, held him to her. "I love you so much."

They split the sandwich and cleaned up their mess, brushed their teeth and flossed, and then crawled into their bed together. When she fell asleep, she could feel Neville's love, strong and true, on the physical side. It held her, intertwined with her, made her stronger, made her better.

And psychically… she could feel the Killer, attempting to get at her, his cold hands twisting as if he wanted to ring her neck. She wouldn't stop until he'd been stopped, but now she realized _he_ wouldn't stop until her life's blood coated his knife and he felt the release of her last breath.

 **oOo**

But it took more than a few days for her to recover. A week after the day she went to Harry's office she found herself sitting in the garden behind her home, holding Neville's hand. Harry came to them this time, carrying that long black box that started everything.

"If anything happens, anything at all, you _use me_ baby. You use the bond to hold yourself safe, okay? Don't worry about hurting me."

"Don't growl," she told Neville. "And I will. Let's try again. I think that I can avoid him now that I know what I'm looking for."

The Killer hadn't noticed her until after she cried out. If she could be silent this time, maybe she could observe him. All week she'd felt him, clawing at the edges of her mind, trying so hard to get in and hurt her as he did before. But he went inactive during periods she believed he was sleeping.

Even killers needed rest apparently.

She felt the Killer slip off a bit ago and felt safe enough to maybe find out how this man was able to connect to her. One hand clenched tightly on Neville's, she picked up the knife and opened her third eye cautiously.

She found herself back at Randall's house, the edges smudged, as if looking through a blurry camera. She waited for the Killer to reveal himself, to suck her into his personal hell, but the vision unfolded exactly as it did the first time. Her eye zeroed in on the twisted door knob and she froze, making herself still as possible. This time, when the knife sliced into Randall's back, she felt the blows but didn't allow them to hurt her. She didn't make a sound.

She did, however, feel the Killer's delight when Randall died. As if some weight had lifted off him. When he left, she felt the thread of connection. The moment she recognized it, it became a muddy thread she could follow. The Killer broke from Randall, and she went with it, snapping into a different place entirely.

A bedroom full of neutral colors. A plain bed made up with white sheets, a standard wooden dresser, a lamp with a grey shade, the carpet a dull beige color. The curtain across the windows white.

No vivid colors anywhere. She stepped towards the dresser. Everything was organized and straight as a ruler. A black comb, a bottle of men's cologne, and folded money clip sat on top of the plain dresser next to a small device she didn't understand.

No identifying structures out the window clued her to where she could be, all she could see was trees, their green leaves turning into reds and golds and browns as the season changed. They fell the ground and rotted on the street in front of the house.

' _There you are…'_

She spun around and caught the edge of a white face, maybe brown eyes, and a very long, very scary knife. Her vision turned red.

Shutting down her psychic pathway as quickly as she could she opened her eyes on the physical plane and grabbed onto Neville just in time to feel the Killer attempt to tear into her mind. "Bastard!"

Neville had never heard such venom from her before. "Baby? You okay?"

"Yes." She buried her face in his chest and he responded to her frightened need by pulling her as close to him as he could. She continued, "He's trying to rip into my mind. He wants to hurt me. But my eye has to be open for him to get through."

She worried, because while the last week her mind had simply been too tired to receive many visions, she had definitely recovered and was feeling much better. On an average day, she had anywhere from 5 to 10 visions, triggered by touching random objects. Even when she wore her gloves full time.

Anytime during one of her visions, the Killer could get into her mind.

"What did you see?" Harry asked.

Taking a deep breath, she turned her head towards Harry. "I think… I think he's a Muggle."

 **oOo**

That night Neville surprised her with a bath, seeing the steaming tub full of golden bubbles and no doubt the bath salts and the oils she loved so much had her toes curling in anticipation. He had lit candles and floated rose petals from their garden on top the water making the entire scene a romantic delight.

No one could out romance her husband. No one.

"Come in with me," she pulled at the top button of his shirt, feeling tender and adored by this man.

He pulled her in for a kiss, their bodies aligning perfectly. Gentle and loving, his fingers slowly parted through her hair, cupping the back of her head as he sipped from her mouth. Through their bond he sent slow rolling waves of love and desire and affection, she let it fill her heart, a heart he made whole, until it overflowed back to him.

When they parted he nudged her towards the tub. "This is for you. Take your time and relax, you worked yourself ragged today." A gentle chide.

She _had_ almost overdone it. The dangerous edge she walked looking for the Killer, as well as all the brewing she did to catch up on her orders for the week, had truly exhausted her. "Fine." But she smiled anyways.

Because Neville took his wedding vows seriously. When he promised to cherish her, he meant it. He brushed a finger over her cheek and she couldn't help but groan. "Just come in with me. We don't have to do anything. Pl _eeee_ ase?"

But even she knew her words were a lie. He groaned back. "No, you need relaxation and I don't have it in me to be gentle right now."

"Fine." A faux pout. "Kiss me again."

He did.

She slid into the piping hot bath a few minutes later and couldn't hold back the groan she made. _Perfection._ Her muscles melted and she sunk even further, until the water came up to her neck. She just laid there for a long time, her mind resting as much as her body did. She mustered up the energy to grab her bath sponge and scrub away the grime that came from brewing all day, the honey and lavender scent of her homemade body wash mixing with the relaxing scent of the rose bubble bath. But after that she didn't think she'd be able to move _ever._

Just when she thought she should get out of the tub before she fell asleep, she slipped into a deep sleep… and her third eye opened.

As if they had built up over the last week, she saw a steady stream of visions. She slipped in and out of her friend's lives as if she belonged there, witnessing things she shouldn't be seeing. Her best friends…. Theo and Percy's quiet intimacy. Ron and Susan's dance between passion and denial. Harry and Ginny's chaotic life with two small children. Draco and Hermione's exasperation that turned to romance without warning.

These weren't moments she had any right to, but she couldn't wake herself up hard as she tried. Time went backwards and she glimpsed her own memories, things she had forgotten.

Her mother, Denise, with long black hair and dazzling violet eyes dancing with her father Bernard. The three of them running through the gardens, the sun shining in her eyes. Her mother painting, a smudge of white on her cheek. The vision of her mother, telling her it would be okay. It would be okay because Pansy had Neville, she had the soulmate bond to keep her sane.

Sane? Ha ha ha…

She slipped deeper into herself and felt the blackness clawing in at the edges, psychic fingers digging, attempting to break into her mind. The Killer.

Pansy felt his excitement, he thought he had her. She couldn't let that happen, couldn't let him hurt Neville through her. She stretched her _own_ psychic fingers. They struck out like purple lightning claws, electrifying her mind and shining light into the darkened corners where the Killer tried to break in.

Male laughter. Arrogant. Mean. ' _I've been doing this longer than you…'_

And then the Killer showed her the meaning of pain, the claws of his psychic reach digging into her mind, ripping out all her worst memories. Making her relive them. She felt her own pain as if it were new. All her nightmares, the agonies, the let downs and betrayals. The death of her unborn child. The death of her parents. The pain. So much pain.

When he finished with that she felt small and scrubbed raw, alone in her own mind. Except she wasn't alone and he wasn't completely finished with her. In a panic, she pulled on the soulmate bond, to her psychic eye it looked a gleaming column of blues and purples and life and love that smelled like Neville's garden.

' _Bastard…'_ she thought at him. And the heat of her emotions seared away a chunk of darkness. It came back almost immediately, but finally, she found a weapon against him.

He didn't allow her to do it again though, instead pulling her into his mind where she was surrounded by the darkness. The Killer trapped her there, suffocating her, ripping her into shreds. She watched in soundless horror as the bond to Neville shrunk until only a pinprick of light remained in the darkness.

Then she was nothing.

 **oOo**

He should not have left her alone. _Damn it…_ the moment he sensed her panic he ran upstairs and found her thrashing beneath the water of the tub, her hair a dark halo.

Pulling her body from the water he wanted to sob when he felt their bond begin to shatter, as if being pulled apart piece by piece until she stilled all at once. "Pansy!"

She lay silent and motionless and somewhere deep inside his head he thought he heard, ' _I belong to him now…'_

"No!" Unsure of what to do, he thought of the happiest memory he could think of, his wedding day popping immediately to mind, and conjured a Patronus to send for help. "Wake up baby!"

But nothing he said made her open those pretty eyes. He held her, he whispered into her ear, he begged her, none of it worked. He blamed himself for leaving her alone, but how did he fight off this villain? How could he protect her from something inside her mind? "Damn it! Baby! I'll do anything, please! I'll do anything!"

Something punched through his head.

Stunned, he thought he'd been cursed and waited to fall over dead, imagining a large spear piercing straight through his skull. Instead he felt blood drip from his nose, his fingers coming up to touch the red liquid. A migraine to end all migraines formed right between his eyes and his vision twisted sideways.

He sank to his knees, holding Pansy tight against his chest, he moved her to his side to avoid crushing her when he finally fell over. He felt blood creep out of his ears and fall along his cheek and drip to the floor by his face. Strange how a little headache could make his limbs feel so heavy.

He blinked.

And rolled over, wrapping his arms around Pansy's sleep warm body. _This_ was his favorite way to wake up. He nuzzled his nose against her neck, pulling her flush against his chest, the bed sheets wrapped around their bodies comfortably.

"Mmm. Morning."

"Nev? Where did you come from?" But she wrapped her leg over his hip, ran her fingers through his hair. Their eyes connected and she gave him a signature Pansy Parkinson smile. Turned up at the side, a little wicked, but a whole lot of love.

"What do you mean? I _live_ here." He rolled over, putting himself between her legs, bracing on his elbow, and he used his free hand to push her bangs out of her eyes. "This is _our_ bed. Or did you forget the whole, marriage and 'til death do us part bit?"

"Silly man." She caught his eye with her finger, ran it down between her breasts until she arrived at the deep v-neck of the white silk slip she wore. "Is this how you see me? Am I wearing a garter? Bad, bad man."

"This is…" he grinned, taking over her finger with his, pressing down her stomach with slow, leisurely strokes over the silk. "You wore this on our wedding night."

"Ooohhh… this is how you unconsciously think of me?"

"What the hell are you talking about woman?"

"Baby," but he interrupted her words to steal a kiss. A long, torturously slow kiss. Lips swollen, breath turning ragged, she knocked gently against the side of his head. "Baby, look around. Pay attention."

"Why?" His voice deepened. "I'd rather look at you," he shifted down as his finger slipped underneath the garter. "Oh God. I forgot about the garter."

"Bad man," she whispered. "Never listening to me." Her fingers dug into his scalp.

"What was that?" he laughed, looking up to her from just above her hips. His eyes, a deep blue that mirrored the color of the Atlantic, peered into hers. He pressed his palm against her abdomen, slowly pushing the slip up her torso as he maintained eye contact. He enjoyed when her breaths came quicker, but he knew what he was doing. He'd had a long time to learn how to love his wife.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her hip bone. "Neville…" she bit down on her lip. Still bracing on his elbow, pressed kisses along her belly to the other hip bone, making sure to drag his stubble across her skin just as she liked.

Her fingers tugged at his hair. "Look around baby." She said it softly, her lips still swollen from his earlier kisses.

"No," he shook his head. He didn't want to do that, he wanted his wife. Only Pansy. Resisting the sudden urge to cry, he instead got angry. "Everything we went through…"

"I know." She petted his face gently.

"I married you."

"You did, baby. You did."

"Then why are you letting him take you away from me?" The words choked out of him before he even realized he said them, voice cracking as he tried so fucking hard to hold back the tears.

"I'm not letting him, baby! Look around!"

"No! You aren't even fighting for us!" He sat up as he said it, bringing her with him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, sat in his lap. Her fingers clung to the strands of his hair desperately and he found himself mirroring the action. One arm a brand around her waist, he forced his other hand into her hair and gripped her head tight, pressing their foreheads together.

"Everything we went through, don't you realize what it took from me?" He finally cracked, shutting his eyes against the waves of tears he felt leaking from the corners. Her tiny form pressed into him, the silk slip sliding between their bodies, and he could feel her shaking.

"Oh my love. My perfect wonderful husband. Please wake up. Open your eyes and look around." He could hear the tears in her voice but he refused to open his eyes and see her giving up. Giving _them_ up. All the hardships they've been through, why couldn't she just _fight?_ "Neville! I am fighting! You're the reason I'm fighting! WAKE. UP!"

 _SLAP!_

He jerked awake with the harsh tingling in his cheek and looked around, found himself in a bed at St. Mungo's with a crying Pansy sitting on the edge of his bed, both of her hands over her mouth as she looked at him in horror.

"I just slapped my husband, oh my God. Neville? I'm so sorry. Neville?" She rambled on, fingers trembling.

"What - but - what happened? I -"

"All right, relax." Susan Bones pushed him down into the bed and he didn't realize he'd sat up. But that might explain the sudden dizziness he felt. "You've taken a major psychic hit, Nev. Just relax and try not to think too hard."

Now that she mentioned it, his head seemed to be spinning awfully fast. "Pansy?"

"I'm so sorry I hit you," she whispered crawling into the bed next to him. She seemed to be wearing his big red sweater and a pair of jeans. "I didn't know what else to do…"

Susan poured a potion down his throat before he could look at the label, but the instant the cool concoction hit his throat he immediately felt sleepy. He blinked at Pansy and she pressed a compress to his face, charmed to stay cool. "Sleep baby, you need to rest."

A flutter of panic. His whole head pounding. "You'll be here when I wake up, won't you?"

"Of course, I promise."

 **oOo**

But he slept for so long that Pansy worried. She refused to leave his side even under threat from Healer Bones. Not even when Susan sicced Harry the Auror on her. Exactly 24 hours later and Draco walked in, crossed his arms, and said, "I've written to Theodore."

"So?" She ignored her friend and his threats. Theo and Percy were traveling, vacationing in Brazil. It would take time to get an International Portkey. "I promised I'd be here when he wakes up."

It had taken her some time to figure out what exactly happened to them, and she didn't think she could explain it more than once so she hadn't told anyone yet, wanting to wait for Neville. Because he was the one that needed to hear the explanation. He was the one that needed to hear why she hurt him so badly.

And worse, when she had… and he said… ' _Don't you realize what it took from me?'_

Her heart was a mess. She never once doubted the love between Neville and her, until now. Did he regret the bond between them? Was he simply making the best out of a bad situation?

Had she forced the soulmate bond on him in her moment of need and trapped him in this relationship?

"What's going to happen when he wakes up and curses us all for not taking proper care of you? You look like you've lost half your weight!" Draco's words broke her out of her sad musings.

"I'm not leaving his side! I'll eat when he wakes up!" she insisted.

"You obstinate -"

"Draco…" Hermione's hand came around Draco's mouth to stop the bad word that was surely to follow. "Hello Pansy."

"Hermione," Pansy gave her a little wave. "I'm not leaving."

"Very well." Hermione nodded, dropping her hand from Draco's mouth. He gave her a pouty look. She continued, "You don't have to leave… How about we bring food to you here instead?"

Truth was, Pansy didn't think she could eat even if she was hungry. "I'll eat when he wakes up."

She slept a little bit then, vaguely aware of more people coming than going. She woke up to Theo's cool hand pressing against her forehead, his haughty voice in her ear. "You interrupted my vacation for this? Honestly, anything less than death remember?"

"I didn't interrupt a thing, thank you very much. Go back to your holiday and leave me alone." But Theo had been her best friend for a long, long time. And his gentle nudge had her standing up to give him a hug. It felt good, that hug… and to be surrounded by their friends. Harry and Ron had come and gone, but Susan kept a steady watch on everyone. Draco and Hermione stood by the door, and now Theo and Percy were back. She released a sigh of relief the moment Theo stepped back from the hug, so beyond happy to see him.

"You spent all those years with your head down, shoulders tucked in, keeping that pretty little nose clean," he tapped her nose as he said the words and somehow she found herself sitting in the chair beside the bed, a cup of warm soup in her hand.

"Then you go and find a boy toy to play with and 'powers from beyond' now it's drama every other week and one life-threatening situation after another." But his hand was as gentle as his words harsh, brushing over her hair in a calming motion.

The battle that took place on the psychic plane between her and the Killer, and her escape through the soulmate bond afterwards, had her psychic pathway feeling like it'd been scrubbed with vinegar. But that didn't stop the vision from presenting itself.

One of Theo handing her a bundle of blankets, a tiny scrunched face underneath a baby pink knit hat as Percy handed her a separate bundle, another baby with a blue hat. _Twins from Brazil…_

She gasped, partly from the pain of overused psychic muscles, but mostly because, "I'm going to be an auntie!" She jumped into Theo's arms and hugged him so hard he physically groaned.

"I told you so." Percy said to Theo from his place by the door, where he smiled happily with Hermione and Draco.

Theo ignored him and instead leveled an annoyed look at Pansy. "Can't I surprise you with anything?"

"Is it true? The adoption went through?" Susan asked, joining their hug. The three of them had become nearly inseparable in the last years.

"She picked us." Theo nodded, unable to contain his excitement.

"I can't believe it!" She walked over to Percy, hugging the tall Weasley next. "Twins? You're getting twins?"

"Uhh twins?" Percy's eyes rose in surprise as he stepped back to look down at her.

Pansy turned to look at Theo and caught him making the same face. "I…" Oh. Her damn visions. "Surprise?"

"I have to sit down," Theo said.

"Oh, jeez." Susan guided him to the chair by Neville's bed. "Deep breaths, in and out, there you go."

"I was trying to surprise you, not the other way around." Theo pouted in his chair.

"I'm sorry," Pansy slid into the chair next to her friends and hugged him again. "Thank you for coming home."

"You're welcome." Theo reached out and held her hands in his own.

She felt so comforted by that gesture the words just spilled out of her, "I'm being hunted."

And she told Theo and everyone else listening everything that happened from the moment she fell asleep in the bathtub to horror of the Killer making her relive her worst memories, to seeing his past and future kills, the psychic pain of his assault when he pulled her into his mind, and how she escaped by using the soulmate bond.

And the worst part about the whole situation, that she nearly killed Neville to save herself. She punched a hole right through his head and brought him into the psychic plane by doing so. So what it had been her only option? He wasn't meant to be in that place, wasn't meant to navigate the beyond.

She hurt him so badly... What if he never woke up?

 **oOo**

Everyone went home. Even Ron managed to drag Susan away, claiming she needed rest too. The night shift Healer brought Pansy another cup of warm soup which she sipped on from the chair beside Neville's bed and thought about the strange mental battle between her and the Killer.

She hadn't realized until after she'd been alone with only Neville's steady breathing that the Killer had given something away.

' _I've been doing this longer than you…'_

What were the odds that the Killer was a psychic psychopath? Using his gift to plan his murders? Stalk his next victims? It made her sick to think about, but it made too much sense to outright ignore.

He knew how to connect to her through her psychic pathway, the conduit she used to receive her visions. Her third eye, to peer into the beyond. She came into her gift later in life, only possessing the ability in the last few years. Steadily she'd grown more comfortable with her visions.

But just as it had taken years and years to become a Potion Master, it would take some time before she really grew into her gift, wouldn't it?

Perhaps the Killer had grown up with his abilities, a master to her novice.

If she attempted to battle against him on the psychic plane again, she would need an advantage. Because she would never again hurt Neville.

Soup suddenly tasting like ash, she set it aside and leaned forward in the chair, focusing on the sharp angle of Neville's jaw. She hadn't mentioned to her friends the part of the story that truly upset her. That ever since she woke up and found Neville passed out and bleeding, just moments before Susan showed up with a team of Healers, her bond with Neville felt smaller than that pinprick of light she saw.

So faint, it felt as if it didn't exist any longer.

She couldn't help but wonder if she burned up the soul-deep connection between them in her attempt to save herself, if such an act was even possible to begin with.

Neville took a sharp breath, his mouth opening slightly, before stilling once again as he continued to sleep deeply. She wanted so badly for him to open his eyes, to yell at her for daring to put herself in danger, and then kiss her until her toes curled because _that's_ what Neville did.

She shut her eyes, focused, and attempted to send her desire for him to wake up down the bond, but her talented husband had always been the expert at sending emotion, not her. He'd even been able to do something similar to her before they even had a bond.

Susan once asked how that worked one night after dinner, the both of them giggly from drink, and Pansy happily explained that Neville couldn't send something that wasn't there. The bond allowed them to have a general awareness of each other at all times. They knew when the other one was sick, unhappy, or in danger. They knew when they were excited, or overjoyed. And Neville happened to be especially good at fanning the sexual desire between them.

 _Damn._ Whether he wanted it or not… their bond was real, and more, she didn't twist his arm and make him give her those vows at their wedding. He'd done that all on his own and it was too late to back out now. She'd fight herself bloody to keep him.

She closed her eyes with that thought in mind and stepped out into the psychic plane. With her psychic muscles so overused and worn out from the long week she'd had, her mind seemed to float in a dark place.

But the darkness there was nothing like the darkness she felt around the Killer. Instead it felt calm and serene, like a dark pool. She stretched her psychic fingers out. Here, in the quiet of the hospital, those fingers appeared elegant and long. Graceful. They illuminated things she couldn't see before, like the tiny, tiny pinprick of blue light that smelled like Neville's garden.

She pressed the pad of her psychic finger against the light.

Nothing.

She bit down on her lip and tried again, imagining the way she'd clawed at the Killer, and ignoring the low throb of pain behind her eyes. Her need to protect Neville from the Killer had triggered her 'claws' before, so she focused on her desire for him to _wake up._

The finger slowly sharpened until it became a fine point, fine enough that she could wedge it into the light. Teeth grinding, she managed to open the bond.

Barely half an inch.

Wiping sweat off her forehead, she took a small break to gather her strength…. Then she focused on the most powerful emotion she'd ever experienced. What she felt for Neville, it was beyond love. Beyond affection. He was her best friend, her lover, and her soulmate. The one who reached into the darkness with her and showed her just how good she could be.

She pushed herself into the bond…

"Mmm baby, you trying to turn me on?"

She blinked open her wet eyes and felt instant relief when she saw Neville sleepily watching her from his hospital bed. "No," she laughed. "I was just trying to get you to wake up."

"Hmm… I used to get a lot more sleep before we got married."

"Jerk." She sniffled.

"Come over here and say that to my face."

She didn't hesitate, sliding beneath the covers and right into his arms. "I said you were a jerk. But I love you so much so I must be the sucker."

He didn't respond with a crude joke as she expected him too, instead he leveled her with an odd look. "Baby, what happened to our bond?"

"I don't know for sure, you see, but I think that maybe, I might have, sort of, well… nearly destroyed it."

A long pause as he looked down at her. "I distinctly remember telling you to _relax_ in that bath."

"I did relax," she insisted. "I was too relaxed if anything. But I believe it was inevitable. As soon as I fell asleep, I had an incredible influx of visions…"

He hugged her tight to his chest, his hold protective. "Then _he_ got in?"

She nodded against his chest, and because she couldn't lie to him, not even to spare his feelings, she told him the truth. The truth of what the Killer did to her, the memories he made her experience as if for the first time again, the pain of his psychic attacks, and how truly alone she felt. "I'm so sorry, Neville… can you ever forgive me?"

"Crazy lady, whatever for?"

"Because to escape him I had to use our bond, and it almost destroyed that bond… and _nearly killed you."_

His hand slid into her hair, his signature possessive move, fingers gripping the back of her head. "Baby, why do I want forgiveness for you doing something that I told you to do in the first place? Remember? In the garden, I told you to use the bond if you needed to. And for once you did as you were told. You shouldn't be apologizing, I should be thanking the gods for this miracle occurrence."

"You know, you weren't this sassy before we got married."

"Well my wife is a smart-ass, I must get it from her."

And then he kissed her.

 **oOo**

Harry escorted them to their home the next day, accepting Neville's offer for a cup of tea and immediately dozing off in the big comfy chair by the fireplace.

"Poor man," Pansy said tucking a blanket around him. "Think Ginny would be upset if we let him sleep a bit?"

"Nah," Neville grinned and set the cup of tea on the coffee table by Harry. "She stopped by earlier while you were speaking with Susan, she pawned the babies off on Mrs. Weasley and is sleeping at home."

"Oh, I missed her. I don't think I've seen her since this whole fiasco began."

"C'mon, let's go outside and talk." He held her hand gently and led her out their kitchen door, grabbing their garden jackets and gloves and scarfs as they went. The ones they didn't mind getting a little dirty.

The time of year meant they were mostly cleaning out flower beds for when springtime came. They raked fallen leaves and threw sticks and broken branches into the fire pit, deadheaded the rose bush Neville had grown until it stood nearly as tall as Pansy and spanned the length of the house, and organized the entire gardening shed from top to bottom. Anything to keep their minds off the last week.

But soon their backyard looked in decent shape and there was nothing else to be done. So Neville made them hot cocoa and she brought out their favorite quilt and they cuddled on the love seat and watched the fire die down.

"What are we going to do, love?" Pansy couldn't help but ask the question they'd been working so hard to avoid.

He sighed, wrapping his own scarf around her neck. "Your ears are turning red." He held the wool at her neck, leaning in for a kiss.

"What a completely subtle way of changing the subject." She pressed her forehead against his and breathed in his scent, fresh earth and crisp Autumn air, rubbing her nose against his. "What would you do if you were me?"

"I would… get naked and stare at myself in the mirror."

"Idiot. Come on, be serious."

He sighed heavily. "If I were still an Auror, and a killer was hunting me, I would say it's time to turn the tables on him and start hunting him before he could hurt anyone else."

"That's… good advice actually."

"I know, and I hate myself for saying it because I know that's exactly what you're going to do."

"The Killer… when he attacked my mind, physically I was knocked out. Right?"

"Don't remind me," he growled.

"Don't growl, listen. If I can do that to him, knock him out physically with a psychic attack... then I can use my ability to find out where or who he is without the fear of him hurting me."

"Baby you already admitted to me that he's far more skilled at mental combat, so no. That's out of the question. We have to find another way to get his information."

"Involve the Muggle police?" she suggested.

"We don't have any concrete evidence to give them and we can't exactly tell them about his ability, can we?"

She groaned, realizing something even worse. "I didn't think about that. What do we do with him when we do catch him? I'm positive he's a Muggle, so it's not like we can throw him in Azkaban. And … He'll still be able to connect to me psychically from wherever he ends up."

Neville's jaw tensed as he clenched his teeth, and Pansy immediately knew the deadly direction of his thoughts. "Baby, no."

"I would do it in a heartbeat. He _attacked_ you. Just because he did it psychically doesn't make it any less of an assault. If someone tried to curse you or harm you physically, I would do the same thing. Stop them anyway I knew how."

She shook her head, trying to find the right thing to say to change Neville's mind, but the words wouldn't come. Because if their roles had been reversed, she would be saying the exact same thing. "Baby…"

He grabbed her cheeks with gloved fingers, holding her face gently, he rubbed his thumb against her cheek bones with a tender motion. "One step at a time. First thing we need to do is make sure he can't get into your mind again."

"I don't know how to ensure that," she huffed. "It's not like Trelawney taught this to us in school. Her 'abilities', if you could even call them that, didn't work the way mine do. I spent the majority of her class sending notes to Daphne Greengrass."

"Why am I not surprised?"

But the gentle teasing did nothing to lift her spirits. Instead she felt more frustrated than before. She'd had _no_ _one_ to teach her how to properly use her gift, the one person who would've known what to do had died to give her the gift, her knowledge along with her.

"Aw baby, you know your mother would be proud of you today." He hugged her tight, knowing exactly the direction of her thoughts. "Damn proud."

"If I didn't have you, I'd be just as insane as she was… at the end. _God_ I hate hindsight! I understand exactly why she acted beyond crazy... _now_. If I had known then, I could have helped her more. I could have been better for her."

"You did the best you could, Pansy. And don't you forget that Denise made her decisions, and she went out the way she _chose_ to go out. Saving her daughter. That's pretty special, I think." Neville tugged her up to her feet then. "We will figure this out, together."

"Together." But she couldn't help but think of her wedding vows then… ' _Til death do us part._ This gift had derailed Pansy's life in a massive way, but there was plenty of good with the bad. The headaches, the constant need to aid or alter her visions, the interruption of daily life and the invasion of her friend's privacy… it balanced out when she thought of the people she saved, the accidents she prevented, the truths she revealed.

But in the end, her mother was dead because of their gift.

 **oOo**

Pansy slept with Neville's arms wrapped around her like iron bands, unable to move away from his touch in fear the Killer would take her away again during sleep.

The stress and lack of sleep from the previous week mixed with the comfort of her own bed and Neville's chest as her pillow led to a hard, deep sleep where she didn't dream or have a single vision.

And when she woke up, rested and alive, she knew her bond to Neville was perfectly healthy and wide open once again. The staggering relief of feeling normal had her lifting her head in smile, pressing kisses against Neville's jawline and cheeks until he woke up and started kissing her right back.

He didn't waste any time.

Pushing her pajama bottoms down with a rough hand he pulled her body underneath his and angled himself directly between her legs, never breaking from their kiss and never taking his eyes off hers.

Their loving quickly took on an edge of desperation, the both of them working out their stress and giving into their desire until they lay sweaty and exhausted afterwards, unable to move.

"How am I supposed to work now," he teased, holding her close. "I can't even move."

"Suck it up, like I have to do. I have so much brewing to catch up on."

But after a small breakfast and a hot shower, and kissing Neville on his cheek as he went off to his greenhouses, she didn't set up her cauldrons or review orders. Instead she pulled Neville's red turtleneck sweater over her head and found herself heading to Harry's office via Floo and surprising him when she sat in the chair across from his desk.

"I believe he's a true psychopath, he's incapable of feeling emotion like we do. Killing people is the only time he feels anything, that's why he does it. My bond with Neville means that even in my natural state, my emotions are heightened to a certain degree."

"I didn't know that," he told her.

Nodding she continued, "I think, and of course this is pure theory right now, but I have this feeling that if I could trap him the same way he did to me, and make him feel the things that I feel, it would be enough to knock him out."

"Overload his senses?"

"Exactly." She winced. That's what the Killer had done to her, after all. "But I would absolutely need Neville with me when I did that, and I don't think he can be reasonable about this situation any longer."

She told Harry about her conversation with Neville by the firepit, outlining her concerns about what to do with the Killer once found.

"Let me worry about that," Harry insisted. "I agree with Nev. Find a way to keep him out of your head, then the issue of what to do with him becomes moot. We can lock him away for the rest of his life."

But that seemed an impossible task to complete the more Pansy thought about it. She pulled Neville's sweater tighter around her small frame and walked the several blocks from the Ministry street entrance to Susan's place, and the entire walk she spent wondering how to get the upper hand if the Killer decided to attack her again.

Susan and her had become such good friends in the last few years that she didn't even knock on the door when she arrived at the old building where Susan owned a rather beautiful and pricey apartment.

Arnulfo, the massive greyish brown pet dog Susan owned, greeted her the moment she stepped through the door. Arnie came up to Pansy's hips, the dog so large and fluffy, when Susan walked him, people got immediately out of the way. He also made Susan lax when it came to locking her front door, of course Pansy agreed that any would be wrong-doers would quickly leave as soon as they caught sight of the dog.

Scratching behind his ears, Pansy thought he had more in common with a lazy cat than a wolf on the prowl. "Hello sweet puppy dog."

"Pansy? Is that you?" Susan's voice called from the bedroom.

"It's me, can you talk?"

She heard a quick slap followed by male laughter and a shriek from Susan. "Good Knight!" Susan stumbled out of the bedroom, pulling a worn orange Cannon's hoodie over her long tee-shirt. Her friend had a huge hickey on the side of her neck.

Pansy couldn't help but laugh, remembering all the meddling she did just to get Ron and Susan to go out on a date. "Why Susie B, is there a man in your bedroom, young lady? Is he tall, pale, and freckled?"

"You meddling witch," Susan shut the bedroom door quietly and then walked over, hugging Pansy immediately.

The two of them long ago worked out how to account for the height difference between them. Pansy lifted and Susan bent down, but even knowing the contact would likely trigger a vision didn't ever stop Pansy from hugging her friend.

Usually she spied Ron and Susan together, fighting, at a Quidditch game, or making out. Sometimes she saw Susan doing her work at St. Mungo's as a Head Healer. This time, she witnessed something completely different.

Susan walked with Ron's arms around her shoulders, the both of them wearing formal black robes as they walked through a graveyard.

' _We're going over to Nev's,'_ Vision Ron said in a quiet voice. ' _Harry and Ginny and I don't think he should be alone right now.'_

' _That's a good idea,'_ Susan said, wiping her nose with a handkerchief. ' _I'll come along in a bit, I just want to say goodbye again.'_

They stopped in front of a headstone and Ron nodded, his eyes glassy and his cheeks red from the cold before he walked away after kissing Susan's cheek gently.

Susan knelt before the stone, her grey scarf shifting just enough to reveal a hickey on the side of her neck, and Pansy's view changed, until she looked down at the stone as well.

It bore her name.

Immediately, sheer panic ripped her from the vision and threw her mind into chaos. Darkness swarmed her and she felt the Killer's presence as if he were standing right next to her.

Her mind released a scream, a battle cry of determination as much as desperation. Because she would not… no, she _absolutely refused_ to allow anyone to steal her away from Neville. She would not leave him alone in this world.

He deserved so much more than that. She saw him as her protector, her shield against the visions, against darkness, the man who would walk into hell with their hands clasped tight. But as the Killer laughed, enjoying the panic that the vision of her own death created, she realized it was her turn to be the protector.

She must become the shield, to protect the world from this evil. To protect Neville from a lonely future. To protect herself against a psychic killer who would do everything he could to slit her throat and ravage her mind.

Physically, her hand reached out and grabbed onto Susan's and Ron's, "Don't let go. No matter what."

The touch anchored her and in her mind, she allowed a small fissure to appear, a crack, a vulnerability. The Killer struck the very same moment, too arrogant to realize the trap she set. As soon as he slipped into her mind, she wrapped her psychic fingers around him and held tight, the purple streaks of electricity turning into sharp claws at her command. They dug into the Killer and pinned him down.

She thought of her friendships, of her beloved Theodore who stood with her all the lonely years before she met Neville. Of Draco, who knew exactly what she'd been through and didn't care about her scars. Of Susan, who was so reliable and strong that Pansy could count on her for anything, anytime. Of Harry and his crazy, trouble-making group of friends that accepted her without hesitation or concern the moment Neville brought her into their lives.

And then she opened the soulmate bond as wide as she could, pulling on Neville's energy, and filling herself up with the pure love she felt. It filtered into the psychic plane like the ocean tide sweeping in, the colors a dramatic sweep of blues and purples and sparkling like a bolt of lightning.

It surrounded and drowned the Killer's mind, his shouts louder than if he'd been standing right next to her. ' _It hurts! Please it hurts!'_

He struggled against her psychic reach, but she kept up the assault of emotion, remembering her wedding night, thinking of birthdays and holidays spent with loved ones, satisfaction at becoming a Potion Master, the vision of Theo and Percy's twins, lazy mornings in bed with a man that made her soul sigh...

The Killer gave a final shout when she focused solely on Neville.

And then he passed out.

 **oOo**

His name was Preston Holloway, a Muggle from Norwich who also happened to be psychic. Who also happened to be a serial killer with boxes and boxes full of trophies stolen from his victims. Harry and Ron found him once Pansy was able to sift through his mind, and steal the man's secrets.

Such an action would normally sicken Pansy, but Preston Holloway had invaded the homes of countless victims, and ended their lives in a violent and brutal fashion. He used his gift to stalk his victims and plan his murders so he never got caught by the Muggle police.

He just happened to find a quirky old man who lived alone on the outskirts of town, no family around to notice his absence. Pansy cried for Randall Jameson, both because she regretted his brutal death and because if he hadn't died, she would have never found and stopped Holloway.

She didn't regret the mental violation. Holloway deserved it.

Neville's stomach twisted as he watched his wife stand behind the two-way mirror that looked into the single interrogation room in the Auror Department at the Ministry. Under any other circumstance, a Muggle would not have been allowed anywhere near here.

But Neville had Harry Potter for a friend. And people listened when Harry insisted this man be locked away, and not simply Obliviated. Just because they'd been Muggles didn't make his victims any less important.

Pansy leaned back from the window when Holloway's eyes continued to seemingly peer right at her, even though she knew he couldn't see her. He wasn't anywhere near her mind either, the pain of her emotions too much for him to bare. The moment he woke up, in Harry's custody, he retreated so far from her that she knew she would never be able to find him.

Not that she wanted to.

But the question remained if he would seek her out again eventually. "I want to talk to him."

"Absolutely not." Neville nearly shouted the words.

"He's going to be Obliviated, so he won't remember me. Harry's arranged it so that it'll appear he had a fall, and drop him off at the Muggle police with all the evidence of his past crimes. This is my last chance to say my peace, love. I must take it."

She felt his anxiety and fear when he hugged her tight, knew too what she was asking from him. That man nearly killed the both of them, hunted her until her mind bruised and bled. But it didn't change her mind.

Straightening her gloves and ensuring her long purple robes were in order, she entered the room where Preston Holloway sat and took the seat directly across from him.

Brown eyes, a clean cut of dark brown hair, straight teeth, he gave her a sinister smile… but she could feel his fear. He was far taller and weighted perhaps a whole other person more than her, but he leaned away from her the moment she slid into the chair.

"You won't remember this," she started, watching his empty eyes for any sign of attack. "But I wanted you to know that if you ever come near my mind again, even on accident, I will trap you with my mind like a rat in a cage."

He flinched and sat back even further.

"What I did before? It's nothing compared to what'll happen next time. Stay away from me and my family."

 **oOo**

Sunday morning came and they both woke up just before dawn, their hands reaching out for each other. His finger brushed over the mostly healed cut on her chest, the place she'd stabbed herself when she first encountered Holloway.

She knew it hurt him to feel that cut, but the wound had closed and was healing nicely. Soon it would fade and just be another memory. She could live with that, and so could he.

And she really didn't mind it when he growled so much.

As he did now. "Baby-"

"Don't tell me not to growl."

"Okay I won't tell you not to growl." She kissed his jawline, rubbing her cheek over his stubble.

His fingers slid underneath her top, pressing against the skin of her back, digging in. "Smart-ass."

"Grouchy. Neville, I have to ask you something." She hadn't been able to get it out of her mind, but thought that since the situation with Holloway had been resolved now was the best time to ask. "When we were on the psychic plane…"

But the words caught in her throat, suddenly insecure.

"Love, what is it?" Neville's voice strong and husky from sleep, he pulled her even closer. "You can tell me anything."

"I know that. I mean, truly, I know that. But that was your subconscious when were there together, and - I'm sorry you had to go there baby but…."

"Go on," he encouraged.

"I can't stop thinking about what you said." She finally admitted it. "When our bond came into being, I know it was because I needed it to. Because I would have gone just as mad as my mother without it… without you-"

"Stop. You know I needed it just as badly, right?" He sounded serious. "C'mon baby you know that, don't you?"

She shook her head. "I just need to know if I trapped you in the bond, I won't let you go. You married me and you're mine, but I still have to know."

"How can my psychic wife be so clueless?" He rolled them over, and she felt the bond flowing with love and desire and wonder, strong as ever. "I love you, not because of our bond, not because of your gift, but because you fit me right here."

She lay on top of him and she saw up close as he spread his fingers over his heart. "You took my broken heart and pieced it back together again, and then you showed me the true meaning of love baby. You didn't trap me with the bond, I would have gotten on my knees and begged for it."

He gripped the back of her head and brought her mouth down to his for a kiss, knowing things would be just fine between them, felt her go tense. "What do you see baby?" he asked against her lips, knowing their kiss triggered a vision.

Eyes closed, she pressed her forehead against his. "I see… you… kissing me… right here…" And her hand pushed his down to the sensitive place between her thighs.

Sometimes life could be strange when married to a psychic. But also so absolutely wonderful.

* * *

If _you enjoyed it, please drop me a review and let me know! I live for that stuff! You can also find me on_ tumblr _as_ ladyylla _!_


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